Yes Sir!
by Swizz
Summary: How did Beast Boy first get introduced to the Doom Patrol? What was his time with them like? A fic inspired by the premeire of Homecoming pts.1 and 2, but please, as the summary sucks, please check the story itself out.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I _wish _I owned (screams of _Get back, beast, a cat's meow and a crash—) _Teen Titans, but I don't. Heh. -

A/N: For those of you that have seen Homecoming pt. 1 (or have extensive knowledge of Beast Boy's past) know that he's been a superhero since he was pretty small. I was inspired by watching the premiere of Homecoming,—and furious with myself for putting the recorder on the wrong channel—especially by the way that Beast Boy addressed Mento as 'sir', and reminded me of an Army Brat, and despite it's cuteness, I found myself overanalyzing the whole issue, and became compelled to write this. So, please enjoy.

**Yes Sir!**

"How far can one little kid go?" growled a voice, grating with frustration. The storm raged overhead, dark clouds marbling the wide expanse of the sky, shrouding stars and pointedly blocking out the light of the moon. The cold rain fell from the moisture heavy clouds in the fashion of a fire house sprayed downwards, huge fat droplets slamming down onto the city below, as if brimming with the intent of pummeling the city flat. Thunder growled threateningly, as if disapproving the seeds of crime that were permeating the metropolis and the lightning was on its way.

The Brotherhood of Evil was in town.

Two men, clad in black patrol armor, complete with several holsters occupied by guns, a few hidden sheaths housing small knives and bulky, but menacing looking helmets that covered their entire heads, with two red plated holes for eyes, turning that was just a man under that mask into a faceless horror.

"Apparently, far," grunted the partner of the patroller who had spoken first. The rain was rumbling thunder somewhat muffled the sound, but thanks to the comlinks built into the helmets, the troopers could understand each other perfectly, but the common spectator or eavesdropper, the voices were stifled, as if the said person was talking with…well, a mask on.

"Why did the Brain order us after that little freak anyway, Aiden?" the first patroller whined. "I don't even remember if he wants the kid alive or not."

"Well, you're pretty damn lucky you have me, Mike." Aiden replied, keeping his eyes ahead on the murky road before them. A chill wind moaned eerily, blowing some of the rain off course, which seemed to intensify the inexorable spell of rain, as if it was angry at the wind's sudden disturbance.

"The Brain said he wanted him _dead_, and his gorilla pal suggested we bring his body back for proof of it, considering the _last _guy you were sent to get rid of got away with a bullet wound."

As the pair turned the corner, Mike started to gripe again.

"Man, that gorilla is asshat. I don't care if Mallah's a supposed genius with a level one-seventy-nine IQ or whatever, he doesn't have to go around suggesting we're incompetent. So we're supposed to bring that kid's _dead body_ all the way back to base?"

"_You're _incompetent! And yes, we do, stop asking stupid and obvious questions!" Aiden snarled viciously, jerking his heavy machine gun at his partner with a click, water flecking off the edge of his helmet. "Let me re-ram the information through your thick skull.

"The Brain wants the green kid _dead_, he wants _us _to do it, _and _bring his body back. Now, before you ask me any _more _stupid questions, I'll clue you in on _why._" So far, the explanation was drawn out with exaggerated patience on Aiden's part, and Mike felt stupider and stupider as his short-tempered partner continued.

"The green kid isn't just some freak, he's some kind of shapeshifter, the Brain reckons. He or Mallah or someone spotted the kid not too far from the base. There can't be witnesses. So, shut the _hell _up and let's go."

Mike didn't feel like prodding him after that would be a good idea, so he kept his further thoughts to himself as they walked through a curtain of rain. His smothered conscience gave a faint, pathetic squeal of protest, but Mike casually crushed it with ease, having practiced that maneuver many, many times.

Gar Logan, eight years old, was running for his life.

He was constantly looking over his shoulder, with fearful green eyes, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps as his pace, once as fast a sprint as a small boy could manage had slowed to a labored, staggering jog, his sneakered feet wearily slapping the wet peavement as he sloshed through ankle deep puddles of dirty standing rainwater, tripped on stray bits of debris or his own, untied shoelaces.

His jeans and shabby white T-shirt, both too big for him, clung wetly to his thin body, making him want to shudder with every step. His short, unruly green hair was plastered to his head, runoff and rainwater dripping into terrified eyes, into his ears and down his back.

Upon seeing him, your standard civilian, even if that standard civilian was well-mannered, they would have difficulty not dropping whatever they were doing and gaping like a slack-jawed idiot.

Gar—at least at this point—would not be considered human. He was green. His skin was a paler shade of the color than his darker hair and eyes, which appeared almost bluish in scant light. Those eyes were big and expressive, a deep emerald. If the hair and skin weren't enough, his ears her long and painted, and a sharp tooth, big by human standards jutted out of his lower jaw, showing even when his mouth was closed.

But right now, his appearance was anything but frightening.

Wheezing for breath and half-blind with fear, rainwater dripping into his eyes, she spotted the alleys up ahead. They weren't too much darker than the streets themselves…there wasn't anything in there, was there?

He made for the sidewalk, breathless, and tripped on the tiny rise, falling with a breathy shout into a deep puddle. Spluttering and coughing and spitting out water, the shapeshifter staggered back to his feet, his skin so numb he barely felt the water dripping off of his arms, neck and face. Coughing and trying to rub the water out of his eyes, he stumbled in the shadows, leaning against the wall, his sides heaving wetly as his legs trembled with the effort of standing, and he slowly slid downwards, until he was resting in what he could think of as safe shadow, curled in a fetal position and hugging his knees.

The rain hammered his back and his head relentlessly as the tears, hot tears started to slide down his face. Their heat shocked him. He hadn't realize how cold he really was…the weight of evens started to crash down around him, making him shudder violently as he fought against sobbing loudly. Those men that wanted to kill him might find him if he made a sound…

He'd heard such horrible things, just by entering the city by that big building. Lots of big men in black uniform, all talking about some sort of big machine that would certainly gain the Brotherhood of Evil or something the upper hand. There was also talk of a brain and a gorilla, but past that, he hadn't heard much…

"I think he went over here!"

Gar looked up, panicked, hearing that muffled voice. Swallowing hard, he backed deeper into the alleyway, his pupils tiny in wide eyes, shivering not only with cold, but deep, bone chilling terror as two black figures with red-plates where their eyes should be.

"_No!" _he whispered, horrified to himself as he backed up even further, but his back touched the dead end of the alley, boxing him in.

"You sure, Aiden?" Came the second voice, one Gar recognized as the whiney one.

"No, but we won't figure it out unless we check—wait! HA! There he is; nightvision scanners just picked him up!" To Gar's complete and utter dismay, the two started running towards him, obviously prepared to do combat…combat that would no doubt end in his death.

In a whirl of thoughts and decisions, the shapeshifter took the form of a dog once again, running up to the foot of the alley. Better to fight than go down cowering—and despite his age, the shapeshifter had morals. As soon as the bigger one—Mike or whatever, came in reach, he lunged with a bark, grabbing his right arm in his teeth, worrying it and growling all the while.

"ARGH! Get him off me!" Mike cawed, beating Gar in the head with the butt of his gun three times before Aiden used his gun like a golf club and whammed him away with great force, smashing the eight-year-old into the narrow wall of the alleyway with a whimper. Colored stars exploded before his eyes as pain racked his head, making the world spin around him. His side ached, but distantly, he saw through blurred eyes one of them making for him.

"Don't shoot him; we agreed that we didn't want blood everywhere. If I can just get my hands 'round his neck…"

Upon hearing this, despite the fact his head felt like it would burst it hurt so bad, Gar focused his addled mind and heart into something bigger, faster and more dangerous than a dog—not by much, but a start. Wolf, wolf, wolf, wolf! He closed his eyes, realizing that he had seconds before Mike was upon him, and felt his dog's snout jut out further, his bone structure lengthened and his teeth grew. His tail bushed out, his paws became larger and his ears narrowed into points as his eyes tapered into ovals.

"YAAGH!" Mike yelped in surprise, jumping backwards. Aiden did not. "You idiot! He can barely control his powers! Come on, take advantage of that!"

Gar didn't have time to be overhwhelmed by his new shape's raw power and strength and senses, only time to use them. With a vicious growl, he jumped clumsily at the smaller man, knocking him over, but just as his vision started to clear, he felt strong, gloved fingers grab his throat and push up, slamming him back onto the ground—on his back. The force of that blow broke his concentration, forcing him back to his feeble human shape—as his oxegen was cut off abruptly.

"Good, now do it fast, before we get any more trouble….damn! Does this look infected to you?"

Aiden completely ignored Mike, increasing the pressure on the shapeshifter's throat. Gar struggled weakly, but black spots were beginning to dance in front of his wide eyes, small, choked noises escaping him as his lungs started to burn, more and more, when he suddenly heard a deep shout, right before he would have passed out—

"Doom Patrol! Attack!"

A/N: Wow, that has to be the longest chapter of anything that I've ever written…anyway, I hope you enjoyed the first chapter of this, and please drop a review. I worked my butt off on this.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I _wish _I owned (screams of_ SOMEBODY call the police for the love of Pete! Argh, get it off me—) _Teen Titans, but I don't. Heh. -

ACK! I forgot, I don't own the Doom Patrol either. 0.0;;

A/N: Argh, I apologize for the abundant typos in the last chapter. I will make a point of typing as cleanly and accurately as I can in this one. Thank you TDG3RD. –bows- I will try to update quicker from now on. And Raven'Teacher, I certainly do hope it's going somewhere. Muchas gracias for your kind words and please drop reviews again. That goes for you silent readers—if there are any—out there, as well! Enjoy!

**Yes Sir!**

_Doom Patrol? _It was a question, and the only thought Gar could force out of his oxegen-starved, slightly-addled-by-the-force-of-which-Aiden-slammed-him-down-on-the-pavement brain. His eyes were closed from the effort of pulling at Aiden's strong, armored fingers, but they snapped open at the sound of the shout. The patroller's grip loosened with shock—and the eight-year-old made a desperate, but weak attempt to get away. Aiden in return tightened his grasp once more and pushed the shapeshifter up against the wall. Gar grunted on impact and made a shrill wheezing sound when Aiden constricted, muttering terrified curses under his breath.

Gar, opening one eye spotted the patroller take a long knife out of its sheath, the blade reflecting what scant light there was, the razored edge seeming to laugh. Terror surged through the shapeshifter's veins as he struggled furiously, trying to morph but unable to concentrate long and hard enough to shift anything at all.

"The Doom Patrol? Oh _sh_—!" Mike never got to finish his sentence as the air, already thick with rain, wind and thunder was torn through by a heavy bellow.

"Help!" Gar managed a weak, hoarse cry. _If this Doom Patrol is enemies with these two, maybe they'll help me, _he thought brokenly, his eyes shutting once more as he fought the pressure on his sensitive throat. Aiden made a furious, incoherent noise as a strange resonance ripped through the air. Clanking and a panicked, shrill scream from Mike, followed by a solid thud—like someone smacking a baseball bat into thick mud followed.

"Stop fighting!" Aiden hissed furiously as he positioned the knife right above the Garfield's heart, so close that it poked his skin. "Don't—UNGH!"

Even through rain-and-fear-blurred vision, Gar could see the tall, sculpted shape of a woman sprint up through the murky darkness and deliver a solid kick to the side of the trooper's face with a cry. The blow cracked the side of the helmet, sending sparks flying from the shattered internal comlink, but not before Aiden had drawn his gun—but he didn't have the time to use it, rather, as the force of the strike, he was thrown backwards, while his heavy firearm crashed into the small shapeshifter's forehead before he could move away. There was pain—and then an odd, watery darkness that seemed to grow from a small puddle in the middle of his vision, and then spread, like ink. It poured into his eyes, nose and mind and ears, slowly shutting out the world around him. He didn't even feel the rain anymore as he collapsed on his side. The last thing he heard before the blackness completely swamped his senses was a coarse, deep and mellow voice, "Elasti-Girl is that a…."

……………..

"So…what're we gonna do with him?" Negative Man wondered, his monotone, impassive rasp cutting through quiet that hung over the members of the Doom Patrol like a cloud. Three of the team's members were gathered in the Conference Room, a rather low-ceilinged, narrow, but long room. The walls, floors and ceilings were a bright white, ceramic-plastic material, giving the room an exposed air, despite the closeness. A moderately sized table that mirrored the general look sat in the center of the place surrounded by four uniquely shaped chairs. The lights above were muted by small, circular gray shades, dimming the lighting so that the blinking red, blue and green lights of the large, rectangular monitors taking up the entire wall towards the back of the room were magnified. Four of the eight small ones distributed on either side of the central, largest monitor displayed several outside locations near the base. The central one and the remaining four remained blank and black, starkly contrasting with the white environs. Security cameras were perched high in each corner, surveying the room with red lenses.

Negative Man sat slouched in his chair, his bandage-wrapped hands flat on the smooth surface of the table, surveying the rest of the team with eyes that were reminiscent of black eye patches. Their silence held for another several moments.

Mento leaned forward, both elbows on the tabletop white he held his chin in one gloved hand, his intense blue eyes slightly narrowed, and his face was set in a small, pensive frown. "I'm not sure, Larry," he said after almost a minute of silence, his voice devoid of much emotion.

"It's not every day that you spot a kid like that, Mento," Robotman put in. His chair hissed as he leaned back.

"No, it isn't. What bothers me is why the Brain would send men after him."

"It's not like we're going to know until he wakes up," Negative Man pointed out. "'Sides, we can't really come to a decision until we get Rita in here."

More silence followed this, but it wasn't as drawn out and loud as the previous ones. "How long do you think she'll stay in there with him?" Robotman queried.

"Not sure, but to pass the time, we should question those thugs that attacked him in the first place." Mento pushed back his chair and stood up, his eyes hardening. "Maybe it'll shine some light on this whole situation." The broad-shouldered man's face set, and he turned on his heel to walk out the automatic doors that sprang open on his approach and marched into the long hallway.

"I hope you didn't break that guy's jaw, Cliff," Negative Man said wryly. "He'll need it to talk."

……………..

Rita sat by the narrow hospital bed, looking down on the small figure with worried eyes. Even with the bright light on, the child's eyelids didn't even flicker.

The hospital wing, like most of the Doom Patrol's base was all white—but the first word that sprang to mind when viewing it was _clean. _The floors were spotless and assorted first aid in various drawers and cabinets were always kept well-ordered, especially for situations like this.

The monitors that showed the boy's vital signs almost all red in the green—except for his temperature. Obviously, he had hypothermia. _Probably from being out in the rain for so long, _Rita had concluded. This kid was very lucky to just have that; he had probably been on his own for a while.

Those ratty, wet clothes made him seem smaller than he actually was—and either way, he had a slight figure. When Robotman had picked him up to take him back to the base, he had commented that the kid was light. Negative Man had gone on to say that Cliff's version of the word_ light_ was about six hundred times heavier than someone else's, and that the kid looked pretty normal, but now, Rita believed it. He had narrow shoulders, a thin chest and an overall skinny build. She had found him some old sweats to dress him in, and in doing so, she saw his ribs—bony and sticking out like sore thumbs. Now, the sight of seeing the child so prone, and so oblivious to the world in a hospital bed, not having stirred _at all_ from the time the Doom Patrol had found him evoked pity and worry in the woman. To her, it didn't matter that he probably wasn't even human, he was a little kid, probably eight or so—a runty eight—and he needed help.

She sighed; glancing at the digital cock perched on the wall. 11:48 p.m. She had been sitting here for almost an hour, waiting. The men were probably questioning the patrollers they had captured, no doubt. Behind her, she heard a slight groan and a stirring of sheets.

Turning her head sharply, she spotted the little boy sitting up. He was shivering like a leaf, even with heavy blankets and the too-big sweats on.

"W-w-w-where a-am I?" he stuttered through violently chattering teeth. His eyes were half-shut, bleary and dull. He seemed to be feeling too sick to be scared. Rita's heart ached, but she didn't let it show on her face.

"Ssshhh," she whispered, putting her gloved hand on his shoulder and gently forcing him back into the pillow and dimming the bright light that shone harshly down with her other one. "You're safe." She noticed that his face seemed pale and bloodless, but it was hard to tell—his skin was green. Tucking the covers up around his chin, she patted his forehead. It was cold—even through the gloves.

"I'm Rita," she introduced herself in a quiet, gentle voice, trying to save him from having to talk too much, even though she'd have to ask him a few questions of what happened, but her relief that he was awake, if only for a little bit relaxed a tight knot in her gut. "Can you please tell me your name?"

The boy shut his eyes all the way for a moment, and looked at Rita dejectedly before sniffing—he had a bad cold, no doubt—and then asked, "D-d-o I have to?"

The woman was surprised at the question. Had he heard her right? "Well, it'd make talking to you much easier," she coaxed, keeping her voice soft. She felt a strange, motherly pull towards this helpless child, and wanted to help him in all that she could…he obviously had no one else.

The little boy sighed, and then coughed hoarsely before blinking his eyes and replying, "Okay…it's—G-g-arfield. M-m-y l-last n-name's L-l-logan."

Now Rita understood why he didn't want to tell her his name in the first place. "Would it make you feel better if I called you Gar?" she asked, tilting her head to the side slightly.

Gar sniffed, and then relented. "Okay." He was quiet for a minute, and closed his eyes, and it wasn't long before Rita wondered if he had gone back to sleep, and she wouldn't be surprised if he had, but then, the boy opened his eyes slowly again and asked, "Are you p-p-part of the D-d-doom P-patrol?"

Taken aback, Rita frowned. "Yes. How did you know?" she wondered, reluctant to ask any more questions, even important ones after this. He needed something warm to drink and then some more sleep.

"One of t-the g-guys who were t-t-t-trying to k-kill me s-said that." Gar said, sniffing again before settling deeper into the pillows.

"Try not to think about that." Rita said, putting a comforting hand on his shoulder. She was just about to say something more when Mento's familiar voice cut in, via the comlink on the wall. "Elasti-Girl, we need you in the Conference Room."

Slightly irritated, but determined not to show it to her charge, who had been shocked by the sudden loud noise, Rita stood up.

"Elas-s-sti-G-girl? Is that what they c-c-call you?" Gar inquired, his voice growing softer as the effort of talking seemed to take a toll on him.

"Ssshh," Rita said again, pressing a button that would activate the security camera in the hospital wing and display it on one of the Conference Room's monitors. "Try to go to sleep, Gar…I'll be back to check on you soon. Just press this," she pointed to a small blue button beside the bed. "If you need me, all right?"

The little boy nodded and then snuggled his shivering body under the covers again. "All right…'n-night, R-rita." He whispered, closing his eyes once more before drifting off in what was probably fitful sleep.

Rita, feeling horribly guilty for leaving him by himself dimmed the light some more, and then dashed out of the hospital wing. The others were waiting.

A/N: Whoo! This took forever to write. As you can probably see, I know little about the Doom Patrol's living quarters, so I took the liberty of making all up as I went…I hope I don't get sued. I really hope I got the characters down right…anyway, 'till next time, my readers! I will update soon.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I _wish _I owned (screams of_ SOMEBODY call the police for the love of Pete! Argh, get it off me—) _Teen Titans, but I don't. Heh. -

Disclaimer the SECOND (Why the hey do we need to do this?): I don't own the Doom Patrol either…'cause if I did, Robotman and Negative Man would have different names.

A/N: rhino-sized Author's Note at the bottom…heh.

**Yes Sir!**

"The Brain sent those patrollers to kill him," Mento addressed the Doom Patrol curtly from his chair in the Conference Room, the entire team assembled and present in their appropriate chairs. Now, six of the eight monitors were on, one depicting a sleeping Garfield Logan in the hospital wing, and another presenting a pair of miserable troopers in the dim, smelly prison holding. Both sat with one wrist magnetized to the wall and the other magnetized to each other, so they wouldn't be going anywhere anytime soon.

"Did you find out why?" wondered Rita, resisting the urge to glance at the monitors every so often.

"The one with the busted helmet said the midget was spotted around the Brain's newest hidey-hole," Negative Man said, placid as ever.

"While Cliff and Larry dealt with him, I read the other's mind. And I found the location of the Brotherhood of Evil's new base." Mento stated, giving up on sitting down—as he had been fidgeting the slightest bit—and stood up, flipping a switch under the table which activated a sophisticated, translucent blue holographic screen, portraying a spinning globe of the earth.

As if on cue, Negative Man pulled a keyboard from a small, hard-to-spot compartment in his side of the table and quickly typed in a set of coordinates. As a result, the map started to blink bright white, and then zoomed in on a specified location and then cutting to a very clear image of what appeared to be a run down old skyscraper. Its windows were blackened and boarded up, and the concrete, slab-ish sides of the very square building were worn down by wind, rain, and cracked with age. Weeds had sprung up in the cracks in the concrete surrounding the old relic.

"_This _is where that talking trash can's hiding?" Robotman said in disbelief, squinting suspiciously at the hologram, leaning forward a bit in his chair as if he could get a better view of the pixels up close.

"Wake up, Cliff," Negative Man drawled, with the air of one stating the most obvious of things. Judging by his tone, he probably would have rolled his eyes—if they had been visible. "The Brain's probably got loads of holograms surrounding the place."

Elasti-Girl's calm brown eyes shifted over to her husband, Mento. His usually expressionless, campaigner expression had darkened into something bordering on frustration—a slight narrowness of his brilliantly blue eyes and a tightness around his mouth. She could understand how he felt—the Doom Patrol had nothing that could actually see through the Brain's holograms, and how could they fight what they couldn't see? How could they even plan of attacking if they knew nothing of what the structure really looked like? On top of that, there was still the whole matter of Garfield Logan.

Obviously noticing his leader's mood, Robotman threw a worried look at Elasti-Girl and then cleared his throat loudly before asking, "So, uh, Mento. Now that Elasti-Girl's here, aren't we gonna decide what to do with the kid?"

Mento's demeanor had slumped into one of disillusionment and frustration. Larry and Cliff probably didn't notice, but as the sole female, and Mento's wife, Rita could easily see this.

She knew him better than anyone. Most likely better than he knew himself.

Mento sighed heavily and then looked up, his face slackening from one of irritation to its regular businesslike mold.

"Did you find anything out from him?" he questioned her briskly, straightening in his seat.

Glad that the discussion turned, Rita nodded and then began. "He says his name's Garfield Logan…but aside from that, I don't have any formal information aside from the fact he's got hypothermia. We're lucky he's not in shock from all of that."

"Tough kid," grunted Robotman, folding his arms over his broad chest.

"Nevermind that Rita, but did it occur to you that he's not even a human being?" Negative Man asked, leaning back.

"Does that matter?" Rita said sharply, jerking her head in the direction of the bandage-wrapped superhero. "In case you haven't noticed Larry, you barely merit the term 'human being'." The words were harsher than she first intended them to be, and she was going to take it back, but decided against it, folding her arms over her chest, a small frown on her face.

"No need to get defensive," Negative Man said in response, holding up his hands. "What I mean is: did you know the kid has powers?"

"Powers?" The word burst stupidly from none other than Mento's lips, and a moment of awkward silence followed. "Why didn't you say anything before, Larry?"

"I didn't want to have to say it twice." Negative Man responded shamelessly. "Didn't you notice that big bite wound on your guy's arm? There isn't a chance in the world that Garfield or whatever managed to do that without them."

"Whaddya reckon he can do, then?" Robotman growled. Rita also wished that Larry would get to the point. He usually didn't talk much, but when he did, he had an annoying tendency to woffle about things. She was going to tell him so when Mento blinked, and then said confidence, "He's a shapeshifter."

"That might explain his strange appearance," Rita said, her eyes lighting up. "I wonder where he came from. But that doesn't matter now; he needs somewhere to stay…"

"What kind of crazy family _these _days would take in someone that looks like him?" Larry put in.

"If anything, he might end up in a circus or worse," Robotman muttered pensively, holding his wide chin in a massive mechanical hand.

Mento, who was staring at the monitors with eyes narrowed in thought, had nothing to distribute to the conversation.

Rita frowned in concentration. The thought of such a small child on his own hurt her sensitive heart, and there was no way that Gar would be by himself like this if his mother was even still alive…his parents were probably both deceased. Adoption into a normal family wouldn't be an option, and either way, the Brain would probably send more men to make an attempt on his life again, should he say anything about the base…and the notion of having to see that small green shape walk away…Her fist tightened in resolve.

_If you need me…_she had said. He needed her.

"Why don't we keep him?" she suggested, trying very hard not to let too much feeling leak into her voice. That would only make her position sound silly. A loud, drawn out hush screamed after her words, the gentle hum of the monitors making it worse.

Mento turned his head sharply at her. "What?" he asked, his voice bordering on disbelieving.

Robotman blinked dully before looking up, a slow, uncharacteristic grin on his blocky, rough features. "That's actually a pretty good idea. A kid with powers like that would be a real wild card, and the Brain wouldn't be prepared at all."

"Yes!" Elasti-Girl's voice took on an eager edge, triumph ringing faintly in its resonance. "Not only that, but you've seen how he can handle situations in high stress! He's only bedridden because of hypothermia."

"You know, I think you're overlooking the fact that animals can more than likely look through a hologram."

Negative Man's comment made every head jerk in his direction. Mento had an odd look on his face, as if he was trying to frown and smile at the same time, but after several seconds of quiet contemplation, he turned towards Elasti-Girl with a bland face again and said with a note of exasperation in his voice, "Rita, we don't have time for this. The Brain's planning something terrible, and we're sitting ducks at the moment. We need to devote our energy into finding a way to pin him down, not take on more responsibility by accepting a child into the Doom Patrol!"

Rita's heart plummeted, but she wasn't ready to give up yet. Not by a long shot. "Mento—"

"It's not that I don't care, it's because I care! By letting a child join us would only increase his mortality rate. He would be risking his life every day!"

"It's not like he wouldn't be risking it otherwise!" Rita's voice took on a desperate note. "Mento—_Steve_, you've _got_ to realize. By making him go would only leave an opening for the Brain to go and kill him then, and without protection, he would last about as long as a leaf in a wildfire."

It was at about this time that Robotman and Negative Man started to back off. Robotman pointedly looked away, as if he was trying to distract himself from the voices that were steadily growing louder. Negative Man was staring at the monitors as if trying to seem useful.

And before Mento could open his mouth to reply, Rita rattled on. "Why not give him a chance to fight for what's good, and give him a chance at living past his ninth birthday! At least with us, he's have a _chance_. Steve, he's a shapeshifter, not dead weight. He was potential to become a hero as great as you. You—you and I have to take that chance." She locked defiant brown eyes with the intense blue ones of her husband. It was no secret that Rita was unable to have children after the chemical accident that had given her powers. And she always had a caring outlook. She needed to be there for someone that needed what only she could give.

More silence. Rita could hear her heart pounding in her ears. Time seemed to slow as she watched Steve's face with wide, almost pleading eyes. It seemed to take Steve an eternity and a day to finally rub his face with a gloved hand and a throaty sigh. And then…

"All right."

A/N: I know that Mento and Elasti-Girl were married in the comics, so I assumed the same thing for the show—even though the writers obviously didn't go there. ;;. 'Sides, it makes for interesting scenes.

I never expected to get a review from you, Lonegrey ( will be updating my WR fic soon, worry not). I swear, the first thing I did was laugh delightedly…Heh, I think I should have done some more description with the Doom Patrol characters…and don't look them up on Google for images, 'cause you'll get a ton of comics junk. You've never seen Teen Titans! I demand you watch it. Now. It is a great show. Over here, the DVD's are about thirteen bucks…you can get them at Suncoast. Thanks for the great review; your words never fail to put me into an excellent mood. Wow! I got lots of reviews! –squeal- You guys are good luck, my day proceeded to be very productive and nice—and as I had virtually no homework, I seized the chance to update for you. Yay! I'm really glad to hear from you again, TDG3RD. Your review put a big grin on my face, and I'm glad to see you like the story. And Golden Dove! You words made me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. You know, I was actually quite surprised that no one had beaten me to this topic…but anyway, thanks again, my readers. I hope you liked this chapter…I worked on some of it at school and got funny, incoherent garbage from my peers...

i.e. HURR, what r u riting? Whut da heck is the Doom Patrol? Hey, u ripped Elastigurl from the indreibles, OMG.

Heheh. I promise I won't gripe about morons like this one in my author's notes anymore. Anyway, 'till next update. Oh, and a tip for all you authors out there: Never EVER try to eat a rock-hard pear when writing. --;;


	4. Another d author's note

A/N: I know you people hate it when all you get is author's notes on an update, but this is important. ; Due to my own stupid fault in flaming some idiot, I got myself swamped with stupid-butt emails from a bunch of haters who mistook my words. –sigh- I forget that not everyone is as well versed as I in what's going to happen on the show.

Anyway, I leave for Oregon later today, but I'll be back THIS SUNDAY. The 10th of October, 2005, okay? So I haven't died. I will have –hopefully- juicy updates for both fics, and I apologize to all of you, TD and Lonegrey in particular…I will return, have faith!–foreheadsmack-


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I _wish _I owned (screams of_ SOMEBODY call the police for the love of Pete! Argh, get it off me—) _Teen Titans, but I don't. Heh. -

Disclaimer the SECOND (Why the hey do we need to do this?): I don't own the Doom Patrol either…'cause if I did, Mento wouldn't have such a stupid looking hat and Elasti-Girl's skirt would be longer.

A/N: Sorry for the delay….;;

**Yes Sir!**

After almost three and a half days of bed rest and general recuperation, Gar—to Rita's stunned surprise—had returned to good health. She eventually concluded that maybe quick metabolism came with being able to morph into creatures like ferrets and starfish, animals with quick healing.

Due to the stress the small shapeshifter had been put under, Rita didn't let Gar actually get up and meet the other members until he was ready…and it wasn't just to get over the distress he had been put through—Mento was still very 'iffy' about having actually agreed on letting Gar join up. She wanted to make sure he gave a good, strong impression.

"Rita, Rita!" cried Gar, shifting excitedly from foot to foot. His eyes were bright and sparkling, a real contrast from the bleary things they had been. His skin had a healthy flush to it, so rather than looking like the inside of a cucumber, it actually had some real color. He was still skinny—akin to toothpick, but that wasn't about to change anytime soon. "Am I going to meet them?" he stared up at the woman, grinning from pointy ear to pointy ear, his big, oddly sharp canines not depriving him of what Rita found as a cute smile, even though it would seem alien and disturbing to the others at first.

"We're going right now. Come on," she told him, putting a hand on his shoulders and steering him out of the hospital wing and into the hallway that was uniformly white. It seemed narrow, due to the relatively low ceiling, and the bright lights up above and shining in tiny, star-like spots on the sides of the doors were dimmed by thin gray shades.

She could tell he was tempted to run down the long hallway, but she kept a firm gloved hand on that narrow shoulder, trying to mentally loosen the tight knot in her gut. Her feelings were kept inside, nothing remotely concerning showing through an expert mask. She had been an actress before becoming Elasti-Girl, so it wasn't too difficult. She was worried. Mento would no doubt push Gar to his limits…could the shapeshifter live up to his expectations?

She halted at the edge of the hallway in front of the door. She brought a hand up to put it on the touch-pad, but then stopped, right before she hit the button.

"Remember, Gar, these people are your friends…and we're going to be your family now, I told you yesterday."

The playfulness leaked out of Gar's eyes like water running through loosely cupped hands and took on a solemn sort of gleam. "Yeah…" he said, looking up, a hint of tension in his voice.

_I can't prepare him for everything…if he's what I hope he can be, he'll be able to do this. _

Rita nodded and then gently pushed him towards the door. "All right then." With a metallic sound of clicking mechanisms and pressured air leaving its vents in light gusts, the door slid open.

……………………………………………………..

Gar stepped through the doorway, his bright eyes wide in his head, taking in the scene before him. His gut was a little tight with apprehension, not fear, and the small boy resisted the temptation to narrow his eyes slightly to get a better look at the phenomena in front of him.

This room had a sort of clean, but oddly metallic smell with the tang of some kind of air freshener. It had a relatively high ceiling in comparison to the rooms and hallways he had seen, maybe sixteen feet or so. Like everything else, it was white with silver shades on the bright lights. This room looked…comfortable, even. There was actually carpet in here—white carpet, but it was carpet. To the right was a kitchen with a built in ceramic workplace and diner-like stools. The place had wide cabinets, but their contents were hid from view. Everything looked very neat and sparkly. A ways off from the kitchen was what looked kind of like a lounge. There were some mismatched, but comfortable looking chairs, a low coffee table that had a blue vase with fake flowers in it—some of the only color in the otherwise boring room. And on the wall above the electric fireplace were nothing other than pictures, happy, fun pictures of the…people…in front of the shapeshifter.

Gar didn't know who to focus his attention on, but the one in the back was about seven or so feet tall and made entirely out of some kind of metal—a copper sort of material that had a slight dull sheen. He was scratched in places, but they were only visible when the light glanced off his huge robotic body. He was built much like a body builder, with a huge torso and bulky, powerful looking arms, despite his slightly blocky appearance and heavy round jaw. The eyes so resembled a humans, the shapeshifter couldn't tell if they were 'real' or not. The robot's arms were folded across his broad chest, looking down on the small boy with thinly veiled interest.

"Huh, shrimpy little thing, isn't he?"

"What were you expecting, Cliff?" droned the man who resembled a mummy. Gar's eyes shifted over to him, only to focus his entire attention on the shorter man. Every visible part of his body that was visible was swathed in what looked like bandages, even his entire head. Two black eyes, reminiscent of hollow eye sockets and a thin line—like a mouth was his only facial features. He was wearing the same skintight black bodysuit with a broad purple-pink stripe down middle and a silver utility belt with matching boots—the same style of the outfit Rita, the robot man and…

"So, you're Garfield." The robot and the man in the bandages turned around to part the way for the final member that had not been scrutinized by the shapeshifter. This man was taller than the one in bandages, but definitely shorter than the robot. He had a weathered, sort of old campaigner look about him and a strong jaw. The man was built solidly with wide shoulders and a generally powerful body, more so than the smaller, bandaged guy, but the helmet he was wearing made it difficult for Gar not to relate him to some kind of giant bug. It was purple, like the stripe on his suit that fell to the bridge of his nose. It had eyeholes, but when the man blinked, there was black, which suggested a black fabric of some sort covered the inside of the thing. The purple mask had a molded band around the circumference and a slight dome on top, but what made it look kind of awkward were the two relatively short, rigid antennae-like projections shooting from above the man's temple. The only thing different about his suit was the jagged yellow lightning bolt that zigzagged across his chest and the elbow length, gray gloves that flared at the eblows—similar to Rita's. But it was the man's piercing, hard blue eyes that really characterized him.

Gar swallowed—his mouth had gone a little dry. "Yeah," he replied, looking up to meet his hard gaze and trying not to blush a little at the sound of his name. He stood rigidly, trying to take a soldier like stance—this man reminded him of an old soldier for some weird reason. "Are you the leader of the Doom Patrol?" he gestured to the people around.

The big man nodded curtly, his face unreadable. Gar wished that he could tell what he was thinking, he felt self-conscious and awkward.

"This is Robotman, Negative Man, and you know Elastigirl." Each member of the Doom Patrol raised a hand as he was addressed and then resumed quiet stances, but Gar barely got that. He was too busy wondering what kind of impression he could make.

"I'm Mento. You'll be addressing me as 'sir'." The mood in the room had changed, and tension was thick in the air. Negative Man shifted slightly, but didn't say anything edgewise.

Gar nodded, wishing that Mento could leave some kind of impression, but he gave away nothing about himself thanks to his demeanor, and it kind of confused him. "Yes, sir." The words felt strange and clumsy on his tongue, but at least it didn't come out funny. But a question kind of tugged impatiently at the back of his mind.

"Um, sir? Don't you have a real name—like Elasti-Girl's name is Rita?" Mento's eyes narrowed a hair, so little that it was almost unnoticeable, causing the shapeshifter's gut to clench as he seemed to shrink away the tiniest bit. Mento's face remained blank.

"Yes. But we won't be telling you those right now."

"Ste—Mento!" Rita's voice came, indignant. Gar turned around to see her with her hands on her hips and a small frown on her face. "If he's going to be a part of the Doom Patrol, at least grant him the courtesy of our real names!"

"My decision stands." Mento replied bluntly, his tone stifling further argument. He turned back to Gar, his eyes calculating and slightly cold. Despite the way that the man presented himself, Gar had a sudden respect, a sort of initiative respect for him. The fact he wouldn't tell him the names of the other members stung a little, but he forced himself to brush that aside. Mento seemed to be curious in how he would take that information anyway.

"Garfield. Can you give me a demonstration of your powers?" Mento asked. It wasn't as much of a question as it sounded like an order.

"Yes sir!" A tingling entered the shapeshifter's body as he thought furiously at what to morph into. What would be best here? His most exotic and rare morph, or his most powerful or useful? It took him almost five seconds to decide until he finally decided on the wolf—his most recent and strongest of his current morphs. He had to focus hard on the image of the wolf and will his body to change into that creature. That part of it took almost two seconds, slow, due to the concentration the morph required. After what felt like an age, Gar opened his wolf eyes and stared at Mento through them, wagging his tail weakly.

Mento hmmmed to himself for a minute before curtly stating, "Interesting choice, but it was too slow. In battle, you need to be much quicker than that. We'll work on that. Is that your best form so far?"

Shifting back to himself, which was much easier than going vice versa, Gar nodded, resisting the temptation to shuffle his feet in embarrassment. Did he hear a note of oblique excitement in the old campaigner's voice? And the thought of himself fighting against some mutated villain was gauche, despite the thrill of the idea. "Yes sir, it is."

Mento pursed his lips and then knelt down in front of the shapeshifter, the aura around him turning deadly serious. "Garfield. If you're going to be one of us, we're going to teach you how to fight, think and work in situations of stress and fear. You're going to be risking your life every time we fight. You know that, right?"

The serious tone that Mento was addressing him in made goosebumps appear on the shapeshifter's neck and arms, the hair on the back of his neck prickling slightly, but he had to shove away unpleasant thoughts and images away. If this guy could do it, so could he, even if it meant…

"Yes sir. I understand."

To his surprise, Mento stood up and put a strong hand on Gar's narrow shoulder before folding his arms.

"Good. Elasti-Girl, we're going to need to get a suit for him. And Gar?" he looked down on the shapeshifter again; who made sure his back was straight as a reed.

"We're going to be calling you Beast Boy."

A/N: I have been the definition of the word butthead for the last couple of weeks. I've been bombarded with the evils of homework and stuff at home…and a horrible, packed schedule. Thanks for the great reviews, guys! There's lots of you to list, and you have my thanks. Your words make my day, really. I come home crabby and get off the comp happy, thanks your feedback. Big time thanks to Allison this time 'round—I honestly did not know all the details about Beast Boy's past, and those nice facts are useful…I'll try and incorporate some of that stuff, but as I wanted to do my own little fan-fabricated past, it won't be entirely the same. I apologize for the sluggish updates and try harder! –huggles- Thanks guys!


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I don't own Teen Titans. And Cartoon Network should be dammed to a lifetime of sewage cleaning for taking it off the air!

Disclaimer numero dos: I don't own the Doom Patrol either. xP Or the Brotherhood of Evil which includes the Brain, Madam Rouge and Monsieur Mallah. I do however, own all the little random guards that are running around throughout the story. D

A/N: There's going to be a monster note at the bottom explaining everything, if any of my old readers are still around to get it. ;; My absence was due to some very life-changing things—I apologize deeply to all, and I have decided to come back and try and finish this fic for a few reasons—one because I promised I would, two because I want to, and three, because I freaking can. xP Let it be known this took a very long time to write! Enjoy!

**Yes Sir!**

"Failed? Vhat do you mean, _failed_?" demanded Madam Rouge, her thick German accent masking none of the controlled fury in her venom-laded voice. She stood in front of the secondary patrollers deployed to find the green boy, whom to her disgust were trying hard to keep from trembling.

They weren't doing a very good job.

"W-we didn't find anything of Aiden and Mike, nothing but their weapons, blood and some green fur—"

"Silence." Rogue told him, turning her head away to glance back towards the door of the Report Station. She was angry. She had been so busy with overseeing the inner construction of the base—much to her chagrin—and working with these sloppy troops that she hadn't received the report that the green boy had disappeared, along with the two guards that were said to have picked up his trail.

She groaned inwardly, cursing the Brain. He knew that she despised this sort of job. She was easily better than any of these half-baked idiots, and could take down Mento of the Doom Patrol, if she ever had the chance. And now, she was being told that Mallah's plan to capture the little boy had failed? A little boy! No more than eight or so years if what she had been told was true.

The air in the room was chilled, and the lights were bright—the only room in the entire base of steel, iron and stone like that. A sophisticated pad on the wall with a thin screen allowed reports to be entered and verified. Security monitors appeared on the far right wall and the dark steel blue color of just about everything darkened the atmosphere, accented by the blinking red, green and yellow lights of the electronics. Towards the back of the room was the big desk of polished black granite at which were Madam Rouge was sitting—but not in the big chair, rather on top of the desk with the papers shoved off to the sides, some having fluttered to the cold, hard floor when she had moved quickly in her surprise that the mission had been botched.

Rouge was not an unattractive woman. She was tall and leggy with a generous chest, her deep black hair cut slightly past ear-length accented by the fitted dark-blood red outfit she wore—a sleeveless top with a high black collar that hugged her neck, and a black fastener with silver trimming wrapping around her midriff. The matching red skirt she had on was very small, but underneath it were red leggings, and shiny black, high-heeled boots that came up to her thighs that like her midriff was trimmed with silver made sure that nothing really showed. Matching gloves that flowed down her graceful arms ended at the ends of her biceps. What could be seen of her complexion was the perfect blend of tan and peach-white, not too dark and not too pale, her full lips accented by dark red lipstick. It was rumored that she didn't use makeup for those lips, but the blood of her enemies. And she did nothing to suggest it wasn't true. But the worst part of her appearance were glittering, slanted, exotic looking eyes the color of lapis-lazuli, hard and cruel with the gleam of a sadist under half-closed lids.

But all this meant nothing to her, or those around her. Her powers were what did. They were what truly made her feared—that and her prowess in battle.

"You two. Get'tout of here." She commanded, sliding off the desk and striding to the door without giving them a second glance, purpose echoing in the sounds of her heels against the floor. The guards leaped out of her way as they parted the way for her like the Red Sea.

"But Madam, there's no way—we were ordered to inform—Gaaack!"

Without even turning around, and though she was now almost seven feet away from the guards and almost to the door, she had seized the man by the jaw with an arm that had extended grotesquely to reach him, her iron grip clenching hard.

Rougue's lips curved downwards in a tiny frown, even though on an ordinary day, she might have smiled at the sound of the man's whimpering. "I don't vant to hear you talk anymhore. I vill hear te rest of te report from Mallah heemself." She viciously flung the guard away, not even turning to see him smack hard into the wall before she left the room.

…………………………………………………………

Madam Rouge stalked down the high hallways lit by torches, the sight of the blood red banner with the insignia of the Brotherhood of Evil stamped onto it a now familiar sight in this base. The guards kept well out of her way, even the employed freaks of the Brain that were slinking down the hallways. The only thing that made her want to laugh a little was the way the _clack clack _of her heels down the hallway seemed to sing the chant of doom to these petty little people who started violently out of their paths to make way. But even that couldn't console her now. She was extremely vexed at the Brain for putting her on this kind of duty and ending up nothing more than the bearer of bad news for him and his pet monkey.

Besides, hadn't he noticed that the Doom Patrol were oddly quiet? And what was that hack Immortus doing? And this little boy who had escaped…the chances he was dead after all that terrible weather, out on his own was very high, but the disappearance of the two guards and the child, leaving only blood and fur behind was fishy indeed. It meritied further investigation. Frankly, she wasn't worried. She could handle any shapeshifter, but if the Doom Patrol had gotten a hold of them somehow, their silence could turn into a problem.

Though she would never admit it, the Doom Patrol already caused problems enough. Even if they had no way to get into the base on their own, the flaw of the hologram protecting them was that an animal could see through it. That's why there were so many rats running around in the currently-empty prison keep.

Careful to compose herself before entering the high-security command center, she paused and let herself flow into the proper mindset. It wouldn't do to storm in there raging like a lunatic.

She approached the door with poise and allowed it to receive her with grace, sweeping in as soon as the compressed air released and the door dematerialized to let her through, closing behind her.

Monsieur Mallah, the hulking gorilla with the huge yellowed teeth curving up from his lower jaw turned, as did the withered old wreck in a blue cavalry army uniform trimmed with gold, so shriveled and wizened he was barely recognizable as human, General Immortus. The Brain, sitting there stationary had already been turned in the direction of the door.

The Brain was literally just a brain, but he preferred to have a "body". It was a short, cyndrillical canister of sorts about three and a half feet tall with a circumference of about two and a half feet. It was black on the top for the most part, but at the base it was a steely color tinged with blue. Big silver studs around embossed it, and towards the top, it was black with three thin, ridged silver rings enclosed it. The brain itself was encased in a clear plastic container resting on the top, while what personified the Brain's canister of choice was a painted on face of something crudely resembling a skull.

"Madam Rouge. What brings you all the way up here?" Mallah's clipped French accent greeted her in the cold, cordial way that black-hearted people in league green one another.

"Your plan to capture te green child has failed, Mallah," Rouge informed him, swaggering into the center of the Control Room. It was a circular room, blinking lights, monitors, consoles and controls surrounding on all sides. The ceiling was high and domed, and in the center of the simple room was a tall, thick cylinder of what looked like light sheathed in plastic. "The two imbeciles you sent after tem haff disappeared along with te little boy. I suspect te Doom Patrol's involvement, vouldn't you agree? T'ere was not'ing but blood, t'eir weapons and green fur left behind at te attack site."

Rouge disliked being the reporter at the moment, but she was pleased at the effect this seemed to have on the trio in front of her. It was hard to keep from smiling. One thing that made her happy is that Mallah and the Brain were not in the middle of a chess game. It was extremely annoying to walk into a room with them in it while they were moving the pieces around and talking as if the people they were after or the situation they were in reference to the game.

"He is probably dead by all means anyway." Mallah told the woman, his yellow-green eyes betraying nothing. "The weather would have made short work of the boy, considering he was all alone." His voice was conscious and steady, and Rouge believed that half of his supposed genius was the way he talked. It made him sound a bit smarter than he was.

The Brain's voice was as emotionless and electronic as that of a robot, slow and deliberate, but not halting and jerking so that he sounded stupid.

"But, Monsieur Mallah, it is not wise to leave ourselves open to an attack by the enemy. Wouldn't you agree, Immortus?"

The hack in question smiled, revealing yellowed, almost green teeth. "Of course…and the Madam has a point there. The Doom Patrol has been…dormant, as of late. Should we not…draw them out of hiding?"

"We will draw them out. Then, we will not only be able to weaken them, but know for sure whether or not the little green one is dead."

Rouge smiled. Finally. Things were starting to get a little more interesting than just desk duty.

……………………………………………………

Garfield Logan, alias Beast Boy observed himself in the mirror of his new room. It was a small space, once having been an old storage room that had remained unused for a long time. Previously, the old washing machine, broken tools, computers and other assorted junk that looked like old space shuttle pieces to Beast Boy had resided here, until Robotman had come to help Rita move it out.

"What the hell is all this junk doing in here? We should have thrown it out ages ago!" he had cried. Negative Man responded dryly was the one who had insisted on keeping the worn out items in the first place, which Robotman promptly denied.

The room was still bare and cold-seeming, but Beast Boy found it much more comfortable and warm than the back of a smelly old alley with newspaper blankets. The room itself wasn't yet painted white, it was just a bare concrete with a few naked lightbulbs dotting the ceiling. An army cot in the corner heaped with patched, but thick and serviceable blankets and an old pillow was companion to the small wooden nightstand—complete with three drawers—and the dull silver lamp that hung over it. Rita and Beast Boy had put down some rugs to cover the cold, unyielding concrete, and Robotman had installed a portable heater and a fan. To Beast Boy, it smelled a little bit cold and airy, a little bit like the smell of an empty garage. The atmosphere was chilly, and for some reason made the shapeshifter feel a little exposed. To any other observer, it was a painfully boring room that might remind them of a jail cell, but to the young shapeshifter, it was practically a dream come true.

How long had it been since he had last slept in a bed?

Beast Boy's eyes took on a faraway, detached look as his thoughts began to wonder. The amorphous clouds in his mind were starting to take shape and form, and subtly raising question and eight-year-old should never have to ask.

"_Remember, Gar, these people are your friends…and we're going to be your family now, I told you yesterday." _Family…Rita had said family. And yet:

"_I'm Mento. You'll be addressing me as 'sir'." _That was contradictory…what irony. But the other thing that Beast Boy dwelled on with a clenched gut and a heart that was starting to beat a little faster.

"_Garfield. If you're going to be one of us, we're going to teach you how to fight, think and work in situations of stress and fear. You're going to be risking your life every time we fight. You know that, right?"_

In response to this, Beast Boy remembered himself swallowing and replying, "Yes, sir."

Fighting…risking life and limb. The shapeshifter had fought before. He'd killed a Black Mamba—a poisonous snake to save his mother what seemed like ages ago. He'd instinctively changed, his body twisting and contorting in the panicked rage he had felt to save her. The snake's acid blood in his mouth as he had streaked forward like a bolt of green lightning and chomped down, the horrible thing writhing its life away in his jaws….his mother's scream. Then later—that boating accident.

He'd fought again. On the streets, he had fought off all those nasty crows for food. He'd fought off rats. And he'd fought off those guards. Pain. Fear. Instinct. Blood on his tongue.

Garfield Logan didn't have good experiences of fighting. But then, did anyone?

And now, he was going to be fighting here. For what?

Beast Boy slowly opened his eyes—when had he closed them?—and stared into the mirror again. He'd fought. But he didn't save his mother from later. He's fought off those rats and birds and patrollers, but he wasn't really saving anyone except himself, and there was nothing there. There was still that horrible, empty feeling inside that clawed at his heart, aching for something more.

A family. He thought of Rita. His eyes glittered. Negative Man. Robotman. Mento? Family. Were they his family?

Rita was. He could tell by the way she looked at him and talked to him that she loved him. He loved her right back. In those days that he had been sick, there had been a bond forged. And the others? They accepted him. That was enough…he guessed. Mento was a puzzle to him.

But if this was a family, it was something worth fighting…and dying for.

"How long are you planning to sit there?" drawled a voice. Beast Boy squeaked in surprise and jerked his head in the direction of the door, all those profound thoughts finding a crevice in his memory to hide, his big eyes huge as his body recoiled in a terrified reflex. It never would have occurred to him that living on the streets for so long would impact his psyche into reacting this way to surprise.

Standing in the doorway was Negative Man. Or, rather leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed. "You're a jumpy squirt," he commented as Beast Boy gathered his bearings and stood up.

"Negative Man! You scared me." The name sounded funny and odd on Beast Boy's tongue, almost silly. It was hard not to giggle or smile addressing him colloquially.

"Noticed that," Negative Man replied dryly. His expressionless mask gave Beast Boy no clue or hint as to what he was here for. It was a little disconcerting.

"It's dinner time. You're hungry, right?" Negative Man's flat voice seemed to have a ring now, something that made Beast Boy feel so much more at ease. Not as comforting as Rita's but it was a start. It was warmer than Mento's voice.

The slight tension that had unconsciously creeped into the shapeshifter's bones lessened as he blinked in surprise. "Huh? Yeah!" Beast Boy had grinned, and his voice had cracked upon the last word.

"Come on, then. Robotman wants help setting the table…he's afraid he'll break the dishes again."

…………………………………………………………………

The lights in Mento's study were dimmed. Papers were shuffled around on the desk usually kept neat and orderly. Newspaper clippings on the left wall ordered by date were nothing but shadows in the scant light, and the only sound in the room was the frustrated, rhythmic tapping of the pen in Mento's hand.

The leader of the Doom Patrol sat in his wheeled chair, keeping perfect posture even when no one was looking. Old army habits hadn't been smoothed out of him yet, not even by Rita. He turned his head towards the newspaper clippings, various headline pages on the Brotherhood of Evil, some featuring a 'Giant Genius Gorilla' or an 'Incredible Stretching Woman' or even an 'Unrecognizable Army Commander'…but none of them, not one of them ever showed the Brain himself. This of course, was perfectly expected, the little bastard kept himself locked up in a can at all times.

But lately, there had been no such articles. There had been little movement outside of the Brain's patrol men that prowled the city like hungry alley cats. Doubtless, he was looking for anything that might be of use to him…or a threat.

All the Doom Patrol had been able to do was ambush small parties of these patrols. Mento put the pen down and sighed. Some of those whom they had managed to take alive had shot themselves rather than give away information before he or one of the others had been able to disarm them…and even when they had found willing information wells, none of the ones they had captured actually reported to the base. Mento had been getting frustrated, short-tempered and angry.

And then, the appearance of this Garfield Logan and those two bumbling guards trying to kill him showed up.

This had been an almost painful discovery. So, now they knew where the Brain's new base was, but there was no way for them to neutralize the hologram surrounding it. It was impossible to see through, even for him; the Brain was no fool. Of course he had made it Doom Patrol proof.

But it wasn't_ animal_ proof. Mento sighed again. He hadn't wanted to take the stray under his wing. He was a scrawny, skinny little child with probably little formal education. No family, on the run, living off the streets like a dog, poor brat. He was also green—a shapshifter, which meant there was nowhere for him to go…

Except to the Doom Patrol. It had been an inadvertent meeting, but nonetheless…he, in truth, was really no different than Robotman, Negative Man or Rita.

Rejected. Strange. Anomalous and alien with remarkable abilities.

That was practically why he had called the Doom Patrol the Doom Patrol. Doomed to a life of rejection by society, but working as a family for the greater good of the world.

"Damn." The irony of the entire situation was almost sickening.

Garfield Logan was also the perfect tool against the Brain's new hidey hole. Animal eyes could see through holograms. A wild card. The Brain would have guessed where the boy had disappeared, but he wouldn't be prepared for an attack by the Doom Patrol with a shapeshifter…

In spite of his feelings against taking the responsibility of taking in a child, Mento was curious as to what the boy could do.

It was as if the odds of fate were stacked against him.

Or for him.

It was all just too damn confusing right now.

"Steve! It's time for dinner." Rita's melodic voice had a soothing effect on the old campaigner's nerves…but postponing the problems didn't make them go away.

"I'm coming, Rita!" he called back, his voice carrying easily through the shut door and down the hallway. Sighing, Steve grabbed his helmet, stuffed it onto his head and left the room.

A/N: Ah, so you made it this far down! In a nutshell, I was found to be moving literally across the United States. Almost no warning until the descision was made. I'll leave out the details of my cracked up self verging on depression, and am happy to inform you I am situated in my new house in Virgina. Life is getting better. UNTIL CARTOON NETWORK DECIDED TO CANCEL TEEN TITANS. I swear to X'Hal they're run by some soccer mom old hag reminiscent of Mother-Mae-Eye, eh? Anyway, onwards to my ramblings about the chapter. This took an even longer time to write than the other stuff, and it was the first time I actually experimented with writing the four honchos of the Brotherhood of Evil. I hope I didn't do too bad a job, constructive crit is most welcome! I know that Beast Boy's train of thought about his past and fighting for a family was a little too profound for an eight year old, but I wanted to get my point across. And even now, I hope it made sense to you guys. ;; Anyway, I'll be updating faster now, but don't expect updates every day! Reviews appreciated—hahaha, I'm such a review junkie. Thank you to all who took time out of their day to read. 3


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